January 14, 2008

"It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards" --Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

If you were actually in the right place at the right time do you think you would realize it? I didn't realize I had been there until many years later so this post is about the importance of being in the right place at the right time.

And I mean it's very important so listen up...

The summer before my first epiphany I spent a great deal of time wandering the streets of NYC. Early mornings on the weekends were my favorites. A warm bialy from Kossar's was reason enough to get up so I'd head out the door for coffee and usually would not return for hours.

Let’s be honest, getting up early on the weekends and hitting the streets isn’t the easiest thing in the world but it was on one of these warm summer mornings that I met the man who was to be my greatest influence.

By the way, chickie babes, we're talking like 30 years ago--and he wasn't Lewis Carroll. I'm not that old. Not quite. Very funny, but thank you for asking.

Back in the day (late 70's), I had absolutely no aspiration to be a painter--I honestly did not like being in painting studios or even being around painters--I was filled with total contempt and disdain--yuck! The attitudes of the "2D" or two dimensional students (painters, print makers, paper people) were so stiff, so lofty, so linearally abstract that I found it difficult to carry on a conversation with them. Sculptors, glassblowers and the rest of the "3D's" are generally more playful, rowdy and you know, fun.

But I was very attracted to one painter's work and would go back to look at his work often. One morning I was surprised to find out that the older gentleman sitting next to me was the artist himself. He, too, was staring at the paintings, because that's what we painters do--kind of like looking in the mirror. Ah-so! Now I could interrogate him...

I remember standing close to the paintings with him, looking closely at his under-painting that was still quite visible and asking him why there was so much pencil showing?! why was the paint so thin? why? why? why?

And he would patiently do his best to elucidate and to get me to stop making up so many rules about art!

I was young, an ingenue!, and loved being in the city--what did I know?--I thought I knew a LOT if not everything. His work was a world apart from what was being shown in the hip galleries--courageously bright, bold work that everyone would emulate in the 80's.

Except him. And because of him, of course, me.

He made certain I kept the questions about painting coming but told me to draw--"forget about the paint for now."

And PS, I didn't paint for at least 10 more years.

So I met with him occasionally throughout the summer. In the warm mornings--before the galleries opened. He was always dressed casually in a dark suit--so unintentionally elegant. I liked that about him. If you want to know the truth I think it made me pay more attention to what he was saying.

At the time I knew I really liked his work and he was really great to be teaching me so much about stuff I had never thought about. But I, with my great plans for changing the world with my architectural designs, didn't exactly realize what an important person I had the good fortune to know. Perhaps he was charmed by my mid-western innocence although I suspect it may have been more that he was shocked at my impertinence on top of my general ignorance of painting!

His name was Will Barnet. Mr. Barnet. THE Will Barnet.

I sense his influence in my work, if not in subject then in mood, and know he is why I paint the way I do. And what my propensity for drawing is all about. And I know how really lucky I really am that somehow I was in the right place at the right time...

January 01, 2008

This painting's title was something about entertaining the neighborhood kids but I think everyone knew it was about a lot more than that. Part of my job is of course entertaining the kids, if not the neighborhood, but what I'm constantly working on is the little issue of priorities and balancing eveything that's going on in my life.

I was going over my game plan for 2008--I mean that's what we're supposed to do while the football games are on, right? Dick Blick always has a big sale on canvases in January so I was looking at how many I bought in 2007 so I could come up with a rough idea of how many I should buy. Since Sephora also has a way to check your past online purchases I checked there and found that I had bought more at Sephora than at Dick Blick! Of course I feel I had to since I really can't paint without that Urban Decay glitter liner! That's gotta be a priority, right?

My number one favorite purchase from 2007 was the pair of brown velveteen Betsey Johnson platforms with the 6 inch heels. (From the Betsey Johnson outlet--not paying retail makes them even better) I wore them to the NY International Gift Fair so I was taller than Debbee Thibault--but she's still thinner and so cute!

So my questions is, Do things from Sephora and the Betsey Outlet count as art supplies? I don't mean for tax purposes because I'm not talking dollar ammounts but in terms of balancing things in my mind I'm wondering how much these things affect the kind of art we do. What are art supplies? What would happen if I bought my studio shoes at oh, say L.L.Bean for example? How would my work be affected?

Think of where you do your work--I have two really fabulous studios (one in Woodstock, NY and the other here in Ohio) but I spend more time painting in bed in my "chamber of inspiration" ( I had to think of someway to convince Bob that it would be a good idea for me to paint in the bedroom).

Do you work at the kitchen table? I LOVE painting on the kitchen table with all the kids running in and out--but my paintings get really BIG and chaotic-looking. My work is seriously affected by the decision to make my painting comfyness more of a priority than how much paint I get on the bedding. Painting in a big studio or in the kitchen of chaos versus painting in my bedroom is like the difference between shouting and pillowtalk or between singing loud and out of tune versus telling secret little stories. I honestly like doing both, not that everyone appreciates the singing nor the occassional wad of gesso on their stockings, but the effect on my work is tremendous so it had to be a priority.

I'm not sure when and how this all started but it works so in terms of priorities and balance I think for now I'm going to stick with my current routine: get up early, pour a glass of ruby red grapefruit juice followed by a red bull, spend way too much time in the bathtub and even more time putting on my makeup (applying mascara is like my time to meditate--it really centers me). Get dressed like Miss Mary Mack and grab the high heels. Take the kids to school, make a pot of tea and get to work.

If I don't do these things I don't feel like myself. I end up taking a nap and wearing bunny slippers.

October 20, 2007

My sister, Amy, told me I was wrong about the Maria Muldaur post and that I should mention that I was not the only one involved with tantalizing the school with our dance routine. I was actually in 6th grade--noted because one of my dance partners, Rosemarie Bommarito, had real boobs.

Maria Muldaur, along with Rhoda Morgenstern, had a serious impact on my personal development. My father still considers it somewhat a personal miracle that I didn't try to catch a Yugoslavian freighter to Morocco when I was in high school.

I still think I look like her--if you kinda squint and don't think about it too much.

Midnight at the oasis Send your camel to bed Shadows paintin' our faces Traces of romance in our heads Heaven's holdin' a half-moon Shinin' just for us Let's slip off to a sand dune, real soon And kick up a little dust Come on, Cactus is our friend He'll point out the way Come on, till the evenin' ends Till the evenin' ends You don't have to answer There's no need to speak I'll be your belly dancer, prancer And you can be my sheik

August 02, 2007

July 15, 2007

"My name is Rhoda Morgenstern. I was born in the Bronx, New York in December, 1941. I've always felt responsible for World War II. The first thing I remember liking that liked me back was food. I had a bad puberty, it lasted 17 years. I'm a high school graduate, I went to art school. My entrance exam was on a book of matches. I decided to move out of the house when I was 24, my mother still refers to this as the time I ran away from home. Eventually I ran to Minneapolis where it's cold, and I figured I'd keep better. Now I'm back in Manhattan. New York, this is your last chance!"